


Love Doesn't Discriminate

by datbootydiary



Category: Thebootydiaries
Genre: AU, Crime, Forbidden Love, Love, Office Romance, Other, Romance, Tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-13 21:31:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7138019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/datbootydiary/pseuds/datbootydiary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a small town girl running a company blog meets a green-skinned hunk?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New People

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off of many real people, and only a few not real people/frogs. But as far as know, pretty much everything is made up. Unless I get some stuff spot on. But probably not. I don't even know if the people who know each other in this fic know each other in real life. I'm only writing this as a parody, please don't sue me. I luv you, thebootydiaries. I hope you luv this fic!

     'I'm late. I'm so, so late.'  
     Farha's thoughts consisted of only this as she was sprinting down the sidewalk of Tumblr, Texas. The small town's sidewalks were in disrepair; uneven chunks of sidewalk were a never-ceasing threat to Farha's ability to get to work early enough that she wouldn't get a stern talking to by her boss. She turned a corner, passing by the bakery/cafe that she frequently visited for coffee on the mornings that she actually woke up when her alarm went off the first time. As she passed the door, she heard the telltale ringing of the bell the owner of the shop had put up to announce when anybody came in or out of the café.  
     "Run Farha! You got this!" Screamed one of the employees of the shop.  
     "Fuck off, Crystal!" Farha yelled back. How could that stupid binch taunt her at a time like this? This was the eighth time in the last work week that Farha had slept in and Crystal knew so. Crystal happened to work the night shift at the bar that Farha also happened to frequent on the days that she didn't wake up on time. So more often than not, Farha saw Crystal during the evenings and took the opportunity to rant about her life.  
     Farha continued down the street. 'So close' she thought to herself as she neared her office. She rammed through the doors of the two-story office building while gasping for air. She headed straight for the front desk. However, before she could get even close to the desk, she suddenly found herself falling face-first on the floor. She groaned and lifted her torso up off the floor. She sat on her knees for a moment, dazed, before looking around in an attempt to locate the source of her misfortune.  
     She looked up to find a piece of shit staring back at her. Said piece of shit had a three friends behind him.  
     "Check yourself before you wreck yourself," The scum growled out.  
     Farha climbed back onto her feet and glared at him.  
     "No, listen here, sweaty. You need to show me some respect. You're the one who knocked me down," She replied.  
     "Mhm. Sure. Why should I respect you?" The first friend inquired.  
     "No. I don't think you are understand. I have three Ph.D's in English, Sweaty,"  
     "If you have a Ph.D. then why are you wasting your time in Tumblr being a useless piece of shit?" The second shot back.  
     "Listen, Illiterate. I said three Ph.D's. I'm a piece of shit with three Ph.D's. You're a piece of shit with zero Ph.D's. I have seven gf's. I listen to John Lemon. I saw weed three times. I have nine abs. So bye, sweaty," Farha whooped his ass verbally.  
     "You act like you're all that and it's not sweaty, it's sweety," The third chirped.  
     "Dam. You really got me there. All of my seven gf's be cryin..." Farha mocked.  
     "This dipshit definitely doesn’t have PHD’s in English. I’m a writer and just those few sentences you posted have shown you are literally incompetent and you don’t know and will never know what true literacy is because you have too much pride in yourself to admit when someone has actually put you in your place like you deserve. Go and take your “7gfs” and go fuck your self because those 7gfs aren’t real and any girl interested in someone like you is just as much of a piece of shit as you because they don’t have the self respect to tell this piece of shit to go fuck off because any man who claims to have SEVEN GIRLFRIENDS is the biggest piece of shit around because he has shown he has no respect for the female form. Now, seriously get off tumblr because all you’re doing is wasting data on the Internet thanks to you. You’re an absolute piece of shit guy and I really hope you go fuck yourself. Done." The guy who knocked her down monologued unnecessarily.  
     "Damn... dragged in my own office again... you really got me..." Farha leaned forward and read the nameplate sitting on the man's chest, "The... Poet... 94,"  
     The Poet 94 growled at Farha and stormed off, his possy following after him. Farha turned to watch him stomp out the doors.  
     "Farha," Came a voice from behind her. Farha cringed as she slowly turned around to face her boss.  
     "Yes sir?"  
     "Meet me inside my office. I have someone I'd like you to meet,"  
     'Oh god. Please don't let that someone be his fist. He wouldn't hit someone with glasses, would he?'  
     "Yes sir," She replied, looking at the ground as her boss turned on his shined brown shoes.  
     "And Farha?" She heard him say. She looked up to see him facing her once, more, looking her up and down.  
     "Yes sir?"  
     "Clean yourself up. You smell like a rotisserie chicken that sat out overnight. I happen to know that Jonah, over at the front desk, he has some baby wipes that would probably do you some good,"  
     "Yes sir,"  
     "Glad we understand each other. You have five minutes,"  
     "Yes sir,"  
     Farha watched as her boss departed to his office and made her way to the front desk. She arrived and slammed her head down against the counter that stood between Jonah and herself. She heard a crinkling of plastic and glanced up. Jonah, sweet Jonah, had already slid the wipes to her.  
     "He was right," Jonah said, "You reek,"  
     Farha cracked a smile,  
     "Yeah, I probably do. But hey, I was only..." She leaned over the desk to grab Jonah's phone from by the keyboard of the computer. She turned it on. "Twenty...six? Yeah. Twenty-six minutes late,"  
     "Why hasn't mister Green fired you yet?"  
     "Cause I'm his best blogger,"  
     "Running the company blog doesn't make you invaluable. You can't even tell that it's a business blog. And I happen to know that you spend more time on your personal blog than on the company one,"  
     "How can I take the company blog seriously? Mister Green won't let me change the name from 'Fishingboatproceeds' to anything that might make a little more sense,"  
     "You could still post more than once a month,"  
     "Yeah, but then again, there's nothing interesting enough to waste people's time by posting it. Instead, I could spend my time farming my personal blog and just letting Mr. Green think that, by living vicariously through me, he is some sort of social media prodigy,"  
Jonah threw his head back and laughed.  
     "Yeah. Before he hired you, I tried to show him how to run the blog. I learned pretty quickly, though, that you can't teach an old dog new tricks,"  
     "I dunno. This one time, I showed my grandma how to call someone on a landline that didn't have a rotating dialing thingy,"  
     "Amazing. Hey, how much do you think Mr. Green is going to dock off your next paycheck for every minute you don't show up in his office. You have two minutes to wipe off,"  
     Farha pushed herself back from the desk and held to fingers to her forehead, saluting Jonah.  
     "Thanks, pal. I'll see ya later," She said, turning on her heel towards the public bathrooms.  
     She entered the bathrooms and came to a stop in front of the mirrors. She set the container of wipes down on the counter and removed her glasses. She pulled a wipe out of the container. She wiped down her forehead, gently moving her brown hair away from her face and tucking a piece that had fallen out of her hijab back to where it belonged. She noticed that the small amount of mascara she had put on had smeared underneath her chocolate-y brown eyes. She rummaged through her small over-the-shoulder purse she had for the small container of perfume she always carried with her and lightly sprayed herself with it.  
     Having deemed herself clean enough, Farha closed the wipes, placed her glasses upon her face once more, and left the bathroom. She rushed to the front desk to give Jonah back his wipes and rushed off to Mister Green's office.  
     "23... 22... 21..." She could hear Jonah counting as she rushed away.  
     She went back into the hallways containing people's offices, and headed for the back. She reached the door at the back and gently knocked.  
     "Come on in, Farha," She heard Mister Green call.  
     She opened the door and quietly shut it behind her.  
    "As you can see, she might not be the most punctual of people, but I promise her inability to be on time doesn't reflect her ability to get her work done," Mister Green said, her back still facing him.  
     Farha turned around to see Mister Green sitting at his small conference table with a person next to him. Farha didn't bother looking at the other person before rushing to apologize.  
     "I'm so sorry for being late sir. I didn't even stop to get coffee like I did last time. I mean, last time I figured that I was already an hour late, so what could an extra five minutes do, but then you yelled at me. But this time it was- well- not traffic, cause I don't drive. But it was crowded sidewalks- well, there aren't really enough people in town for the sidewalks to be that crowded. But I ran into at least one person on the way here and it really reduced my running functionability by at least five percent. But I guess-"  
     "Shut up,"  
     "Yes sir,"  
     "Farha, I would like to introduce you to a new team member," Mister Green said. He stood up and the person next to him followed suit, "Mr. Boi, this is Farha,"  
     Farha finally spared a glance to the person standing next to Mister Green. Brown eyes met beady black eyes. Farha's sight was consumed by green. A frog-like man was standing next to her boss, skin green and oily. He looked like he had applied hair gel, but was so confused by his lack of hair that he ended up smearing it all over his body.  
     Farha approached them and offered her hand to the new guy.  
     "Farha,"  
     The new guy took her hand and shook it.  
     "Boi. Dat Boi. It's nice to meet you,"


	2. New Coworker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, they blossom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Farha is her own person. Dat Boi isn't my meme. I only own the plot.

     Is there an onomatopoeia to describe the static in your head when your life is totally derailed? Farha wasn't sure if  _Boom_ was too simple. Maybe more of a  _fsssht_. Maybe even a  _Stop staring at him you fucking creep._  Oh, wait. That isn't an onomatopoeia. But it was definitely what shook Farha out of her daze as she came into contact with the hand of the green gentleman. 

     "Oh... yeah... uh... nice t-to meet you too Mr. Boi. Um, or is it Dat? Or are you more of a 'whole-name' kind of guy? What do your coworkers usually call you? What does your wife call you? Or maybe your kids?" Farha blurted out. She was about ready to smack herself in the face, but she realized she hadn't let go of the hands of Dat Boi. 

     The room was silent for a moment. Farha glanced over at her boss to see his face covered in red. He was fuming. However, Dat burst out laughing.  

     "You were spot on. I'm a whole-name kind of guy. Call me Dat Boi. I'm sure if I had a wife, that's what she'd call me in public. I happen to know that there is a long list of nicknames that mythat my... romantic... partners prefer to address me by. And, no, my kids wouldn't call me Mr. Boi. They'd probably call me dad." 

     "… right," Farha said, realizing how stupid she must have sounded, "Unless you were a deadbeat. That would explain why your wife only called you by your name in public. She'd probably call you an ass in private. And your kids would probably call you Mr. Boi." 

     "It could always go the other way around. I'd imagine my hypothetical wife would have enough self control to not call me an ass in front of the kids. I feel like she'd be the type that's scarier when she's quiet. She'd probably never shut her mouth." 

     "Fair enough." 

     At that moment, Mister Green seemed to have realized that they had been wasting precious work time and decided to say his piece. 

     "Well, if you would focus, please, Farha. We've gathered here today to join you two in the holy matrimony of the workplace. Mr. Boi will be aiding you in the maintenance of the company blog. You see, it has been brought to my attention by a person who would prefer to remain anonymous-" 

     "Stupid fucking Jonah." Farha mumbled under her breath 

     "That the blog has been extraordinarily inactive." He continued, undeterred by Farha's comment. 

     "Sir, I update it as frequently as I can." 

     "No, Farha. You don't. I may not have been clear enough about this in the past. I don't want our blog to be solely professional. I want it to warm. Welcoming even. I want people to want to visit it. It should be like a home away from home." 

     "And how is Dat Boi going to help with that?" 

     "Mr. Boi is going to make our blog a happier place to be. Farha, you do an exceptional job keeping it professional, but we just need a little bit more... umph, if you will. I feel like Mr. Boi will do that for us." 

     "Don't worry Farha. I've got this in the bag," Dat Boi said, "You see, I have made many-a-viral-internet-meme in my working experience. Fishingboatproceeds will be the biggest blog on the internet!" 

     "I'm sure," Farha deadpanned, "Now, when exactly are you planning on interrupting my peaceful meme farming life?" 

     "Tomorrow." Mister Green said. 

     Farha pushed up her glasses and sighed exasperatedly. She figured that arguing with Mister Green just wasn't worth it. Once he came up with an idea, he insisted he stick with it. He had once told her that it took more energy trying to come up with a better idea than it took to just suck it up and deal with a bad one. 

     "Well sir, if you don't mind, I'd like to go to my office now. I want to enjoy my last day in a peaceful, quiet workplace." She said. 

     "Go for it, Farha." Mister Green said. 

     Farha exited the office with her shoulders slumped. A blind man a mile away would have been able to tell that her body language just screamed 'God I Hate My Life Please Kill Me Now'. She slowly made her way down the hallway directly outside of her boss's office until she came across her own broom closet. 

     *Ahem* 

     Office. 

     It was a small room occupied only by a desk with a computer and a roll-y chair that also spinned. She called the roll-y spinny chair Chairles. (Like Charles, but a chair) There was a sad-looking fold-y chair on the opposite side of her desk where the rare visitor (Jonah) could rest his weary (lazy) feet (ass). Farha took a seat and logged onto her computer. She first opened Google Chrome (only old people who don't know better use internet explorer, and as her computer was HP, she didn't even bother taking the time to check to see if Safari was available). She then logged onto the company Tumblr. She checked to see if there were any messages or asks to respond to (there was one message from 'Emily' who wanted her to check out her game; Farha immediately deleted the message, knowing that if Mister Green checked the blog, he would jump at the chance to help a poor entrepreneur).  

     Farha, after reluctantly uploading the mandatory 'Good Morning, World!' message, logged out of Fishingboatsproceeds and entered her personal blog.  

     ' _Good to be home'_  

     Thebootydiaries was one of the most popular Tumblr bloggers on all of Tumblr. She was respected. People frequently spoke highly of her eloquence. She was on motherfucking BUZZFEED at one point. It was obvious in every text post that she had three Ph.D.'s.  

     Just kidding. Farha rarely wrote complete sentences. She consistently used improper grammar. Her fucking catchphrase was "Sweaty". But that was part of her success. People who enjoyed her blog could respect that it was her creative choice to type the way she did. And the people who didn't enjoy her blog? Well, who cares? They would attempt to sass her and fail, only to end up the laughing stock of Tumblr. Her fans would defend her, calling out the haters' bullshit. There was fanart of her. Beautiful displays of the talents of her fans. Farha couldn't think of anything she loved more than coming across a sketch of her face done by a talented young aspiring artist.  

     Farha scrolled through her feed, looking at her mutuals' posts and adding stuff to her queue. Farha regularly set up queues in an attempt to never leave her followers without some sort of content. But that also meant frequent delays in answering asks and many asks ended up unintentionally forgotten. But her fans forgave her for accidentally ignoring her and just resent the asks in an attempt to get her attention. She loved her fans with all her heart.  

     Farha look away from her blog and noticed that a few hours had passed. Time flew when she was blogging. It was 1:00 now. Lunch time. Farha debated where to go for lunch. It wasn't like there were very many options in this town. There was the bakery where Crystal worked, there was a diner down the street, and two McDonald's. She could always go to the town's Walmart and pick up something to eat.  

     Farha logged out of her blog and her computer. She turned off the computer screen and gathered her stuff. She grabbed her phone off her desk and stood. She pulled her purse off the back of Chairles and placed her phone inside of it. She left her office and pulled the door closed. She went towards the front of the building to let Jonah know that she was leaving.  

     She was almost to the front desk when a green piece of work-stealing shit walked in front of her.  

     "Where you off to?" Dat Boi asked. 

     "Lunch," Farha replied briefly. 

     "Need a lunch buddy? You know, it's never safe for a woman to go off by herself. Not even in broad daylight. It's always better to have a buddy," Dat Boi said. 

     "I think I'm good," Farha said, "Besides, it's probably safer for me to be alone than to have a stranger that I just met today escorting me," 

     "Am I really that strange Farha? I mean, we're on a first name basis," 

     "We're on a whole name basis, Dat Boi," Farha shot back. 

     "Doesn't answer my question. Am I really that strange?" 

     "It doesn't matter whether or not you're strange. Truth is, I'm just super salty towards the world, and adding you into the equation just increases my overall saltiness exponentially," 

     "Woah Farha. Down girl. I thought you were a blogger, not a mathlete. I'm good without knowing your saltiness percentages," Dat Boi said. He turned to face the same direction she was and linked his arm with hers. He pulled her along with him towards Jonah's desk, "Hey Jonah. Me and my new friend Farha here are heading out for lunch,"  

     "Whatever," Jonah replied. 

     "Good conversation," Dat Boi beamed at Jonah. 

     Dat Boi pulled Farha out of the building with little resistance. After all, outside did happen to be her original destination. Dat Boi released Farha and turned to face her. 

     "Okie dokie, Farha. Where're we off to?" He asked, beaming at her. 

     "I hadn't gotten that far. And when did I agree to you coming with me?" 

     "I figured that you had silently agreed. For the most part, if I'm against going somewhere with someone, I don't just walk arm-in-arm with them. I usually say something along the lines of ' _hey, stop'_  and then the person says something like  _'oh shit, sorry bro'_ and we're friends again," 

     "Whatever. Douche," Farha grumbled. Dat Boi pretended that he hadn't heard.  

     "What kinda lunch joints are here anyways?" 

     "McDonald's," Farha replied, "Or bread."  

     "Wow! I've never been to a place with so many options! I think I'll have to go with... Bread!"   

     "Bread with meat or bread with sugar?" Farha asked. 

     "Bread with sugar," Dat Boi said after a moment of thinking it over.  

     "Two minute walk. You think you can handle it?" 

     "Who said anything about walking?" Dat Boi inquired. He made his way over to the small bike rack outside of the building and Farha followed.  

_'Just when I thought he couldn't get any worse'_  

     Dat Boi unlocked a freaking  _unicycle_. Why? Who the fuck rides a unicycle casually?  

     Dat Boi got on the unicycle. Farha was completely ready to laugh at him when he fell. Stupid ass had it coming. No such luck.  

     Dat Boi was a freaking pro.  

     There was no hesitation. No slight wobble of the unicycle. He got on the unicycle and just got going. What the actual fuck? How was that possible?  

     "Lead the way Farha," Dat Boi crowed.  

     "Whatever, you weirdo," 

     Farha walked down the street towards Communist Bakery, Crystal's place of business. Dat Boi slowly unicycled behind her the whole way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "All you need is love". Well, that and clean water. Don't use more than you need!

**Author's Note:**

> Reduce, Reuse, and Recycle! Keep the planet as green as Dat Boi!


End file.
